


hurricane hatched from a sigh

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [5]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death is Methos' dad, Gen, Masks upon masks, Methos is OLD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death says, “My eldest child. If you can convince him to your cause… I believe you might even win.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: hurricane hatched from a sigh  
> Fandom: Highlander/Supernatural  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: spoilers for up to season 5 SN; AU  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 440  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Highlander/Supernatural, Castiel tries to convince one of the children of Death (Immortals) to help him in his rebellion. Methos would rather not get involved.

"Little angel," the Horseman says, ring flickering in the moonlight. "You are brave, and so incredibly foolish."

Castiel stares at him, determinably unafraid. He has already fallen, after all. Already been killed by his brother once. What more can this Horseman do?

Death smiles, chuckling. "I can do much, child. I am the oldest, and old things have more power than you could ever comprehend." He cants his head, staring into Castiel's eyes. "You are here for a favor. Speak it."

“Your children,” Castiel says. “I would ask their help. The Winchesters—and I—are losing. We are too few.”

Death laughs and Castiel shivers. “A few would help you, little angel. There is one who already fought a demon to save the world, or so he thought.”

Castiel asks, “I have your permission?”

Death reaches out, places a cold hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You may ask. Most are young, arrogant and foolish. A few, though, would be a boon.” He stares hard at Castiel for a moment. Castiel shudders. The ring flashes again, and Death says, “My eldest child. If you can convince him to your cause… I believe you might even win.”

“How will I know him?” Castiel inquiries, striving to not jerk away.

Death smiles again. “Of all my children, he is the most like me. He even used my name, for a time. Created his own brotherhood of horsemen.” He pauses, and worlds are born and die in the eternity before he speaks again. “You will know him, little angel.”

Death releases him and Castiel—does not flee. He merely exits quickly, to begin another search.

o0o

 _You will know him_ , Death said, and Castiel shivers, looking at Death’s son.

“Well, now,” the man calling himself Adam Mateo says. “What can I do for you, little angel?”

“Lucifer has been released,” Castiel tells him. “The end of the world has begun. I need your help.”

Death’s oldest child, who had been ancient during the Flood, laughs. “Pop told you to find me,” he muses. “You’d have never known of me, otherwise.”

Castiel waits. He has learned patience dealing with Winchesters.

“I’d really rather not get involved, you know,” the man continues. “War is so tedious. It never truly changes.” He looks past Castiel, to the normal street and all the normal people living on it. “But,” he says, and he sounds resigned, “this is my world.” He focuses on Castiel. “I was the first thing to ever live on this world, and I’ll be the last thing to die on it.”

A ring flashes on his finger, that wasn’t there before. Death’s son smiles.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methos is keeping interesting company: two mortal men and one something else, something neither mortal nor immortal. Methos’ accent is as American as the two men when he says, “Hello, Duncan,” hands in his pockets. One man stays seated, the other leaning against the wall; the something else tilts his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: hurricane hatched from a sigh  
> Fandom: Highlander/Supernatural  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: spoilers for up to season 5 SN; AU for both; spoilers for season 6 of HL  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 595  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Does "Adam Mateo" have some poor Watcher recording his life? Was Joe there or did he read the report? Could Duncan or Amanda have seen the meeting between Methos and the angel?

Duncan hasn’t seen Methos is over a decade. He figures Methos is being a student again and when he asks Joe out of curiosity, Joe realizes that Adam Pierson’s Watcher hasn’t been able to find him in well over seven years.

So Duncan goes looking. He hunts and tracks the world’s oldest man and finally finds him in late fall, in a small town in the middle of Nowhere, USA, and he knows that if he’d been anyone else Methos would’ve stayed missing.

Methos is keeping interesting company: two mortal men and one something else, something neither mortal nor immortal. Methos’ accent is as American as the two men when he says, “Hello, Duncan,” hands in his pockets. One man stays seated, the other leaning against the wall; the something else tilts his head.

“This is the one your father spoke of,” he says. “The one who fought a demon.”

“Yes,” Methos says. “Duncan, these are Sam and Dean Winchester, and their pet, Castiel.” The seated man nods, the leaning one raises a brow, and Castiel doesn’t react at all.

Duncan blurts out, “You don’t have a father,” and then hopes he didn’t just ruin whatever thing Methos has going.

Methos laughs. “Oh, Duncan, most things have a father.” He glances at the something else. “Isn’t that right, little angel?”

Castiel doesn’t reply. He keeps looking at Duncan, who stares back, mouth dry. “Ang-angel?” he whispers. “Truly?”

Castiel regally inclines his head. Duncan drops into the free chair and continues staring.

The brother leaning against the wall says, “He as good as you?” to Methos.

“Not remotely,” Methos answers. “But he’s the next-best.”

Castiel asks Duncan, “Will you join our cause?” His face is so earnest—Duncan can feel his light, almost like a quickening. An angel. It is such a wonder, like finally something has gone right in Duncan’s life. Maybe helping an angel will wipe away the stench of Ahriman.

Duncan looks back to Methos as he pulls his hands from his pockets; the white ring on his finger flashes in sunlight from the window.

“What is that?” he asks.

Methos flexes his fingers, smiles down at the ring. “It was my father’s,” he says quietly. The brothers carefully don’t move and the angel stills. “I wore it three millennia ago, when I rode a pale horse and used his name.” He lifts his gaze to Duncan’s and Duncan holds his breath because his friend isn’t in those eyes. Neither is the man who wept for his brothers in Bordeaux, or the monster Cassandra recalled with horror. “I wear it now,” something Duncan can’t name says, “because I am my father’s hand and I wield his scythe.”

Duncan exhales as those eyes look away. The brothers let out matching sighs of relief and there is a relieved lessening of tension in the angel’s shoulders.

“What are you?” Duncan asks, because this is not his friend.

“Call me Methos,” Death says. “I was the first. I shall be the last.”

Castiel steps forward, drawing all attention. There is the shadow of wings behind him. “We wage a war with too few soldiers, against an army most could not imagine. If we fail, the world will be destroyed.” He’s even more earnest.

Duncan nods, still trying to calm his heart. Methos has removed all masks. He smiles at Duncan, at the brothers, at the angel, and he no longer pretends to be anything but what he is: Death.

It is terrifying. It is exhilarating. The white ring on his finger flashes.

“How can I help?” Duncan asks.


End file.
